


Living is Harder

by euromagpie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Disability, Gen, No Incest, hurt!Fili because i hate myself apparently, well apart from azog he deserves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7800136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euromagpie/pseuds/euromagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then, Fíli saw Thorin – Thorin and Dwalin, and their burglar, eyes wide in shock, mouths agape, and he understood. He understood what was going to happen; he was going to die. Not in battle, not in sacrifice, but as a message. His death was what was going to draw his family into that fetid Orc trap that he had recognised too late, only moments before pale hands had snatched him. His heart plummeted, past his feet and into the nothingness beneath him – he had to swallow a sudden burst of vertigo; dwarves were never meant to leave the ground, he thought.</p><p>(aka All Our Faves survive BotFA, but not unscathed)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living is Harder

He couldn’t _breathe_. Azog’s thick grey fingers were wrapped so tightly around his throat that he was wheezing, icy breath whistling through clenched teeth. His own hands scrabbled at the harsh grip as he bared his teeth. But the Orc just laughed, a cruel sound like scittering gravel before a landslide. Fíli felt himself dragged, his rough hide boots catching on rough flagstones and patches of snow; he couldn’t stop. Black spots were starting to encroach on his vision. Behind Azog he could hear the jeering yowls of his lackeys – something was going to happen.

Just then, Azog’s grip lessened, instead tangling into the back of his coat. Fíli took a sudden breath, the air burning on the way down. He felt a moment of hope – then suddenly dashed as he felt his legs swing into nothingness. Lifting his head, his vision refocussed. He briefly took in the sloping hills, the frozen length of Celduin, both covered in a thick layer of snow. It might otherwise have been quite beautiful, if it hadn’t been for the spreading infection of the Orc legions, like hills of fire-ants, drawing blood-less veins into the snow.

And then, Fíli saw Thorin – Thorin and Dwalin, and their burglar, eyes wide in shock, mouths agape, and he _understood_. He understood what was going to happen; he was going to die. Not in battle, not in sacrifice, but as a message. His death was what was going to draw his family into that fetid Orc trap that he had recognised too late, only moments before pale hands had snatched him. His heart plummeted, past his feet and into the nothingness beneath him – he had to swallow a sudden burst of vertigo; dwarves were never meant to leave the ground, he thought.

As the grey vapour wound around his dangling boots, he heard Azog speak. The Black Speech dripped over him, black tar, poison. Fíli thought he was really going to be sick this time. He could see, even across that empty distance, his Uncle giving in, the mourning in his eyes even before he was dead – the anger, the _rage_ , _the pain_.

“Go!” Fíli tried to shout, but it came out as a strangled whisper, dropping dead in the air.

 _Where was Kíli?_ He had the sudden panicked thought that his little brother couldn’t see this; he was still in the lower levels, right? He had sent him there to be safe – he needed to leave.

He tensed – the tip of Azog’s blade was digging, threateningly, into his back, slowly parting the thick layers of leather and fur and the body armour of his ancestors.

Thorin shook his head and all the blood in Fíli’s body _froze_ in fear. Not for himself, but for his family.

 _For his family_.

His clothing shifted as Azog tightened his grip. In the background of his mind, Fíli realised he was seconds from death. But-

But his main thought was focussed on his glove, and on the ice-cold burn of a metal handle, now pressed against the thrumming pulse of his wrist. When he’d been grabbed, he had been patted down by his captors.

 _But not well enough_ , Fíli thought with a savage mirth. Before Azog could complete his swing, Fíli had grasped the tiny dagger in his glove, pulled it free, and with all his might, drove it into the Orc’s forearm.

Azog yelled, and in surprise released his hold on Fíli.

For what felt like minutes instead of a mere moment, Fíli was suspended in the air, black blood spattering across his cheek and in his hair. _Gotcha, you ugly bastard!_

Then he fell.

Fíli thought he heard some shouts drift across the airy canyon but his ears were filled with the high, loud whistling as he hurtled downwards. Out of his periphery he saw the walls of the crumbling tower rush by at a dizzying speed. Barely the thought managed to cross his mind before he hit the ground.

 

*

 

_Mahal it hurts!_

Fíli’s world had narrowed down to that one plea into the nothingness, and pain. Pain, red and black. Like fire it seared up his limbs, yet stabbed into his head like icicles. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, and snowflakes land on his open eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to close them. White overhead, white clouds were better than the darkness he could feel waiting for him. The rushing in his ears hadn’t abated, but increased, a sea of pounding blood rising around him, waiting to swallow him.

“-li, _Fíli, oh Mahal, brother. –cking look at- can’t_ do _this to_ me!”

As suddenly as it had come, his bubble of pain burst. Sound rushed in all around him, the sensation of hard ground beneath him, the feeling of desperate breaths across his cheek. The sting as a strand of dark hair fell into his open eyes. Fíli blinked, then cried out as the movement sent another wave of pain around his body.

“Fíli! Okay, okay, don’t move. Wait, no, we have to move, we have to- Azog’s coming, Fíli, but I can’t move you, I-“ The words barely made sense, but as the white clouds were obscured by a blurry vision of pale and dark, Fíli realised who was speaking.

“…Kíli…” He whispered. His brother. He was…angry? Sad? _It hurts to think_.

“-‘m sorry for what I’m about to do, but we can’t wait. I have to get you out of here.” Kíli’s voice had taken on a harsh edge.

Fíli couldn’t prepare himself for what he didn’t know was coming. What he did feel was a heavy gloved hand sliding under his back – even in his prone state he couldn’t help a whimper as agony bloomed in his back – and another under his knees. With one last whispered apology, Kíli _lifted_.

Before Fíli could feel the burn of his jostled injured, he blessedly passed out.

 

*

The next time Fíli opened his eyes, it was to fuzzy darkness.

 _Am I dead_?

Panic jittered on the edge of his consciousness, but a great gulf of numbness separated him from it. For the moment, he was content to just look up. Rough brown fabric was stretched across his vision far above his head; the middle was lighter than the edges, and every so often it would move up and down, side to side a little, the movement echoed with quite groans and small metallic pings all around him.

Light. Light shining through fabric, that’s what it was. That mean he was- where? Fíli wanted to move his head, but everything in his body told him that would be an _amazingly_ bad idea. Unfortunately, he’d never been great at following orders, even from himself. He twisted his neck a small increment to the side, eyes rolling.

The numbness inside him pulsed, and he thought that if he were in all possession of his senses he’d probably be in agony right now. As it was, his new position afforded him the view of a small space, surrounded by tall poles. Yes, the brown fabric was stretched around him – the poles would be buffeted by the wind every now and then, and the metal fastenings clinked against each other.

As far as he could see, Fíli was alone. He could see a few more bed rolls stretched across the ground, but they were all empty. Ready. Waiting.

 _For what? What happened?_ Dim memories stood in the shadows of his mind. Every now and then he’d get a vivid glimpse, before it vanished again. It was very frustrating.

Fíli licked his lips. They were cracked and dry, and his mouth felt like it was full of the book paste Ori used on his manuscripts. He tried to speak, but no word would come out, just a whistling wheeze.

Minutes ticked by with nothing happening, but the occasional boom of a gust of wind against the tent. Maybe Fíli should have been worried about the structure collapsing on him, but he knew dwarf construction was the best. Even in his state, he knew that.

Exhausted by doing so much nothing, Fíli fell asleep again.

 

*

 

Fíli woke suddenly, amid a loud commotion. Colour and noise swirled around him, and the tent was packed where it was empty before. Booted feet tread dangerously close to Fíli’s limbs and splayed hair, hems of coats brushed lightly across his forehead and nose as figures bustled and shouted and jostled and shoved-

It was too much for Fíli, too sudden. He expressed his displeasure but turning over as far as he could and vomiting.

Since he was laying on the ground it didn’t go far, and he was distantly disgusted as the vomit dribbled down his cheek. While he was sleeping the pain medication had obviously worn off a bit – he was thinking more clearly already, but his sudden shift had sent crackling bolts of fire burning him again. He gagged, salty tears joining the chunks on his face. He was only flailing for a moment before a figure detached itself from the group. It shoved its way through the crowd and knelt down beside him, unaware, or uncaring of the puddle of sick by his knee.

“Brother! You’re awake.”

_Kíli._

Worry swept a clear path through his pain. Memories were still hazy, but the remnants of worried panic all hit him at once, and he forced his eyes to open all the way from the half-lidded state he’d had them. As soon as he got his first good look at his little brother, he knew his concern was warranted, several times over.

Kíli looked filthy. His dark hair was matted, and stuck against the side of his head with blood – red and _black_ , some of the blood oozing from a gash at his temple. He was also leaning on one side. He’d knelt down fine, but his left arm was clutching his right, the sleeve slashed and ripped. But the material was already dark, and Fíli had the sinking feeling that he couldn’t see any skin because it was doused in blood.

Despite his numerous injuries, Kíli was smiling, grinning. He looked _elated_ , apparently because his brother had vomited on himself.

“…what’d y’ do?” Fíli muttered, trying to inject as much of a chastising tone as he could. He couldn’t keep it up though, and slumped on his bedroll with a drawn out groan. When his eyes rolled over to his brother again, Kíli looked worried again.

“Óin!” He yelled. Some reply came back, but Fíli didn’t catch it. He was having a hard time focussing on anything past his brother. His little brother, _covered in blood_.

“…arm…stup’d…” He couldn’t get a full sentence out, but then the two brothers had always been able to have whole conversations without finishing a whole sentence. Kíli snorted.

“You are such a worrier, Fí. It is just a scratch, Azog-“

Fíli felt like a bucket of ice-water had been dumped over him. The blood froze in his veins, and before he could think better of it, he was sitting up, one hand fisted in Kíli’s chainmail vest.

“ _Azog-_ “ He heard Kíli yelling as he shuddered and jerked. The physical pain shooting up his body was contending with the terror in his mind, that _Kíli_ had gone up against that monster alone-

Stubby fingered hands were pushing against his shoulders, gently and then with more strength as he refused to relinquish his iron grip on Kíli’s vest. His brother’s panicked face swam before him as he gasped. He felt his fingers being wrenched from the chainmail one by one, but before he could cry out, strong fingers had thread themselves through them instead and finally he let himself be forced down horizontal. Kíli squeezed his hand reassuringly, but the world was really spinning now. The fingers were back, together with a harsh string of grumbling – they forced his mouth open. Something oily was dripped into his mouth, and a bitter taste coated his tongue. Fíli swallowed on reflex.

_“I am here, brother. Go to sleep, I willl keep watch.”_

So he did.

 

*

 

The tent was calm again when Fíli woke next. The medicine still had him wrapped in a soft, cotton like haze. A quiet humming drew his attention to the corner of the tent. He saw the back of a heavy-set figure, dirty grey hair rising around it like a heavy cloud. It took a second to attach a name to the figure; Óin. He was puttering around a low table, the surface dotted with bottles and bowls, little scoops and mortar and pestle. Several long stemmed, bub-topped flowers lay there also, crossed with a much-used knife. Fíli’s attention drifted again, the quiet atmosphere lulling him into a sense of security.

Where before the tent had been empty but for him, he immediately saw the bed roll near his occupied with a body. It was swathed in blankets, but he could see the light peeks of bandages around the chest area. Black hair was splayed across the pillow, dusted heavily with grey on top, the same darkness obscuring his chin. Fíli knew this person.

His tongue writhed in his mouth. He knew the name, he _knew_ it, but like rabbits in a hunt, the name escaped him. It irritated Fíli out of his comfortable sleep. He tried moving, but found his limbs heavy and refusing to obey his commands. He furrowed his brow in irritation at his legs, before turning to his heavy hand.

That, at least, was easily explained.

Kíli was sleeping in the bedroll beside him. He looked better. Not good, but definitely _better_ ; someone had cleaned the blood from his face and stitched the large gash at his temple. His arm had been splinted, from what Fíli could see in his position. The youngest Durin lay with his good hand holding Fíli’s, a small frown on his face. The sight of his brother, safe and at his side, brought a small smile to Fíli’s face. He gave a small squeeze, but made sure not to wake him. If his day had been anything like Fíli’s, he would need it.

_Come to think it, how long have I been out?_

Before he could think himself into a knot again, the tent flap opened. Fíli only just realised then that the tent had been relatively warm, when a gust of icy wind was let in. The figure was too short to be a dwarf, so it was probably the hobbit-

“Here, Óin, GlÓin told me to give you this and to, ah, take a break.” Yes, it was Bilbo, with his kind, yet always fussy voice. As Fíli watched, Bilbo handed over a mug, steam rising off the top.

“WHAT?” Óin yelled, picking up his ear trumpet.

“I said, your brother said to give you this, and for you to take a break,” Bilbo repeated himself, louder and slower this time. Óin muttered something but took the cup. He gave a cursory glance over all the patients in the tent – Fíli quickly closed his eyes before Óin noticed he was awake; he wasn’t really sure why, other than he wasn’t feeling like being fussed over. Or taking any more of the old dwarf’s vile potions.

He heard a shuffle of feet, and then Bilbo’s voice came from a different position, near the dwarf with hair like a snow-capped mountain.

“How has Thorin been doing?” _Thorin_ , that was it.

“As good as can be expected. That filthy Orc’s blade missed most o’ the vital organs, but still, it’s a through an’ through cut. Ye can’t jest bounce back from tha’,” Óin explained.

Fíli’s heart gave a painful clench as he listened. Both Thorin and Kíli had faced down Azog while he’d been sleeping. They could have been killed, nearly had been from what he had seen, and he hadn’t. Been. There.

He must have made some kind of sound in his distress, because he felt displaced air at his side and when he cracked open an eye, the worried face of Bilbo was at his side. Over his shoulder, Fíli could see Óin keeping one eye on them as he drank from his steaming cup.

“…Glad to see…you are alright…master Boggins,” Fíli teased weakly. His joke obviously fell flat, as Bilbo’s face seemed to fall even further.

“…wha’ happened?” His ignorance was really starting to grate on him. Bilbo sighed and settled himself cross-legged on the ground beside him, furry feet to the undoubtable cold ground.

“Well, for a _start_ , I’m glad _you’re_ alright. You really gave us a scare, Fíli.” Fíli heard the soft chiding in the hobbit’s voice, but instead of feeling chagrined at his mystery deed, something inside him warmed a little. It felt nice to be worried about – as a big brother; he was often the one doing the worrying.

“Do you remember…falling?” Bilbo asked. Fíli frowned, searching his scuttling memories. There was something…

“…Orcs…”

Bilbo swallowed shakily.

“Yeah. Ahem, yes. Azog, he, he had you- he was threatening you. When you and Kíli had gone off to the tower, I found Thorin, told him it was a trap, but we were too late for you two. Azog had you and he, he nearly _killed_ you. He had you dangling off the tower. But you did something. It was hard to see clearly from where we were standing- I think you stabbed him. You fell. _Hard_. Kíli brought you back. He was in hysterics, he was so worried about you.”

Fíli turned to look again at his little brother. He did remember a bit, being lifted.

“This is a medical tent, I think it’s your family’s specifically? It’s quite far away from the fighting – that’s over now as well, by the way-“ Bilbo was starting to ramble and Fíli cut him off.

“Kíli?” He asked pointedly. Bilbo looked worried.

“You were very badly injured, Fíli. Nobody was sure if you’d even make it through one night. I think Kíli snapped. He and Thorin went off, went up against Azog, _alone_. I found Thorin bleeding out on Celduin. Kíli was doing his best to keep him alive, even thought he was injured. Thorin probably would have died anyway, but it was enough.” Bilbo gave a little smile then.

“Kíli had done enough to keep Thorin alive until the Eagles came. They got them both back here – you woke up just when we brought Thorin in. It was amazing what seeing you alive did to heal Kíli.”

At Fíli’s questioning gaze, Bilbo elaborated, “Kíli wasn’t in a good place – with you and Thorin nearly dead, it was almost like he had given up. But Óin thinks Thorin will survive, Kíli will even get full use of his arm back, and even you will...heal.” The odd stumble in Bilbo’s speech didn’t escape Fíli, but he had more important things to worry about.

Fíli licked his lips, wondering whether he wanted to ask the next question.

“…Azog?” A full-body shudder ran through him just speaking the name. It brought back unwanted memories – chocked breath, empty sky beneath him, laughter like grinding rocks. He grit his teeth together.

Bilbo scrunched up and wiggled his nose, snuffling in the way he was prone to do. His next words took a second to sink in.

“Azog is dead. Thorin and Kíli made sure of it.” He said. His tone was heavy and a sort of grim satisfaction shone in the hobbit’s normally gentle eyes.

Fíli felt like the whole world had become lighter. It was almost unbelievable. Azog the Defiler was finally dead, his threat scoured from the Durin line. Before he could stop them, Fíli felt hot tears roll down his face again, and when a worried Bilbo fluttered around him at the sight, he could only give a weak, wet chuckle. With the tears came an outpouring of pent-up emotion; pain, anger, _fear_ , they dripped into his beard and his pillow and the cold earth under his bedroll.

He felt a squeeze of his hand and turned his head to see Kíli, eyes also swimming.

“You fool.” Fíli choked out fondly, never one to give up the elder sibling’s task to admonish the younger for reckless undertakings. Going up against a monstrous Orc definitely counted as a ‘reckless undertaking’. Kíli didn’t look particularly contrite though, snorting instead.

“Don’t do anything so…stupid again…without me there…to protect..you,” He carried on, past the raspy feeling in his throat. As he spoke thought, he saw the slight grin drop off Kíli’s face, and a shadow fall across it, although he tried to hide it.

“Kíli?” Now Fíli was worried. There was pain in Kíli’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. Kíli’s eyes seemed to involuntarily slip to Fíli’s legs, before trying to hide the action. What was wrong with his legs?

Fíli frowned. They’d been strangely heavy before, but he’d just chalked that up to the drugs, and tiredness. He tried to move them. Not a movement under the sheet. He tried again, more and more panicked as he pulled away his bedsheets, grasping at his thighs as they just _lay_ there.

“My _legs_ ,” Fíli choked out. His emotions were coming in great tides of highs and lows, and the devastation came hot on the heels of his previous elation at Azog’s defeat. His slow mind made the delayed connection- a great fall, numbness in his legs.

“Brother, stop-“

“Óin!” Bilbo called, trying to pull the covers back over Fíli, while Kíli tried to calm him on his other side.

_Dwarves were never meant to leave the ground._

Dizziness threatened to overwhelm him again, as the old dwarf briskly pulled his hands away from his legs.

“Calm down, laddie. Here, drink this, errythin’ will feel better soon.” He said, pushing a small cup against Fíli’s lips. He drank only a small sip, but it was enough to send him down the slippery slope of unconsciousness again. Before the darkness claimed him, he felt the tightening of Kíli’s hand against his, and a promise, growing faint.

_“I am here. I will carry you, brother, until the end of our days.”_


End file.
